


Maximum Occupancy and Other Polyamory Concerns

by Wiggle



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - How I Met Your Mother Fusion, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Meet Dirty, Multi, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23450485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggle/pseuds/Wiggle
Summary: This week on How I Met Your Fathers, we answer the big questions:Can you put out a dumpster fire if it's raining men?*Hallelujah*
Relationships: Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, Clint Barton/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 31
Kudos: 100
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Marvel Polyship Bingo 2020, Tony Stark Bingo 2020





	Maximum Occupancy and Other Polyamory Concerns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rudearrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudearrow/gifts).



> Tony Stark Bingo **Tall Tale** square R3 **CARD # 3086**  
>  Marvel Polyship Bingo **Lost and Found** square I5  
> Bucky Barnes Bingo **Crossover of your choice** square C4

“All right, sit back and get ready. Morgan, phone down. Peter, eyes over here. Harley, don’t try this at home. Once upon a time—” 

“Jesus, Tony, just tell ‘em!”

“You want it done your way, you do it.”

After a few seconds, long enough for Peter to get distracted, Harley to open his mouth, and Morgan to pull her phone back out, Tony gets a round of ‘fines’ in various tones of exasperation and mirth.

“Thank you,” Tony pauses… _wait for it,_ “Once upon a time a young, twenty-something Tony Stark—handsome, brilliant, rich—”

“Fuck me, Steve, you do it.”

“Wait, I can’t see his lips—” 

“—drinks himself into a dumpster.” 

~

Tony Stark, handsome, brilliant, rich—bored out of his mind—is out living life the way only a billionaire heir can. His fourth and final pair of thousand dollar sunglasses are wrapped around the neck of some Stoli Elit, a tip for the bartender. Ty and Sunset are...somewhere, he should probably check in, make sure they’re having a good time. Instead, he pulls the wand of rubies out of his Diva vodka with his tongue. Waving down Mindy, or Mandy, or Miranda, Tony sucks the last of the liquor off and asks her to split them with the other servers. 

The lights are flashing, and the music is thumping, and the liquor is top shelf. This is a good time. Tony remembers this being a good time. There’s enough excess and debauchery happening that his stimulation-hungry, never satisfied brain should catch on something.

It doesn’t. 

He wanders out, tentatively taking stock. Is he going to be sick? Or is he just sick of everything? He keeps ending up here, having fun until he suddenly isn’t, the life of the party until he wants to crawl out of his own skin. 

The bass of the music swirls out into the street along with him, unpleasant now that it’s no longer wanted, like the liquor sloshing in his gut. 

Tony moves. It only takes a single turn of a corner for the noise to die down and the street to empty out. Somewhere, a streetlamp buzzes out an inconsistent staccato though he can’t see any hint of light. Down the street, someone is yelling, and the sound pulls Tony in that direction. It’s not really a decision, it’s just the only thing that’s different in the uninterrupted nightime dark of… fuck. Where is he? Is this Jersey? Brooklyn? It doesn’t matter. Sure, he’s _heard_ of self-preservation, but something something leave a good-looking corpse.

The shouting has died down by the time he gets to the cross street it originated from. There’s a loud clang and what looks like a person tipping over into a box. Tony’s three steps into the cross street before he realizes it’s an alleyway. People like him get murdered in alleyways, right? He smiles at nothing, mugging for, hopefully, no one. 

That’s… he thinks that’s a body laid out on the damp pavement. 

Tony puts a pin in that. He isn’t ready for dead bodies. That can be step two. 

The ‘box’ the other guy toppled into is a dumpster. Lucky him. Tony fiddles with his shirt, but he _has_ to know, so he hefts his way onto the edge.

“Hey!” comes at him from more than one direction. That’s probably what startles him into losing his grip—not his fault—and then it doesn’t matter because his head meets the bottom of the dumpster and everything goes away.

Later, minutes or hours, he’s awake. It’s brighter, his head is killing him, and he isn’t supposed to be drunk and hungover at the same time. That’s not like... in the rules. Someone with dark hair is climbing out of his dumpster and some other guy, why are so many people in this dumpster, is poking at Tony’s head.

“STEVE!” comes from the alleyway, echoing through the metal container and Tony’s skull. He tries to jerk away from the place the metal meets his head, but everything lurches alarmingly to the left. It feels like his hair is the only thing holding his brain together. Puking might be the better part of valor.

“Aw, billionaire, no.” says the blond guy, gingerly patting Tony on the back as he dry heaves.

“You know who I am?” Tony pulls himself together enough to ask. The guy gives him a _look._ Which, fair. Except the look quickly turns sheepish. 

“Was I not supposed to?” he asks, one arm raised to rub over the back of his neck, “Because if this is your attempt at going incognito... I’ve seen better.”

It says something about Tony's life that 'woke up puking in a dumpster' is a look people expect from him.

“Steve!” Echoes in from the alleyway again.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Tony asks.

“Not a clue,” The other guy answers. Tony’s just realizing that he’s only known this man for about thirty seconds and he met him in an actual dumpster. Clearly, he is not the most trustworthy source of information.

“Well... unless you’re going to mug me, and you’re doing a poor job of it by the way, help me up.”

Together, Tony and the blond climb out. Tony feels like a rogue committee is in charge of his limbs, each one trying to move independently of his wishes. Somehow, “I’m Clint,”—whose introduction is made with his hands on Tony’s ass, boosting him over the edge—gets Tony out of the dumpster anyway. Before Tony can fully turn around, Clint is… reverse-ballerina-free-running or some shit out of the dumpster. Tony is impressed. Tony is in pain. Tony is a pretty easy lay and that maneuver was way over the bar. 

“That’s handy,” he says, unsure whether he wants the breathless quality of his voice to be from the climb or arousal. 

Clint smirks but looks away. Tony knows compliment-shy when he sees it. Clint is in danger. _Tony_ is in danger. He’s about one awkward laugh away from being hopelessly smitten.

“A little help?” comes from the guy who escaped the dumpster first. He’s cradling another blond guy—was it raining men last night?—who looks like he might just be a human-shaped bruise. It’s only now, with dawn threatening his very tender equilibrium, that Tony sees the state they’re all in. Clint’s cut up and scraped all over, and there’s one hell of a shiner blooming on his left eye. Tony's own face is hot to the touch, his right eye swollen nearly shut from when he landed on it. 

Looking far worse are their unnamed alley mates. At least the guy who’s awake looks like he gave as good as he got, split lip balanced by split knuckles, though his sleeve sags alarmingly. The other one kind of looks like he was used as a squeeze toy. Air is whistling through what is likely a broken nose, but his chest, to Tony’s relief, rises and falls in a steady rhythm. 

“What happened to him?” Tony asks. It’s stupid. He’s getting invested in the boxcar children set-up that’s happening around him. Even with his track record this has to be the least advisable thing he’s ever done. 

“The same thing that always happens to him. Trying to save the world by lettin’ it hit him in the face. This is Steve,” he says, with a head tilt at Sleeping Bruisey, “and I’m Bucky. Either of you know first aid?”

“A little—” Clint starts.

“Wait, you don’t know each other?” Tony asks while rough estimates, assumptions, and odds resettle themselves, unasked for, in his mind. No alleyway in New York is ever empty, but this…

“He might be concussed, if you have money, a hospital—”

“—We don’t.” His tone makes Tony think his eyes will be averted when Tony looks back. Instead Bucky’s staring. Tony knows that look, he’s been recognized again and it’s time for his money to fix something. “But he doesn’t like hospitals anyway.”

So they… don’t… want his money? That’s… Okay, Tony can admit he didn’t see that coming.

~

“Why didn’t you tell them that we dated for six months,” Bucky asks, when Harley, Morgan, and Peter are gone and it’s just the four of them again. “The same six months Clint _thought_ you two were dating, _the same six months—”_

“Bucky, we get it,” Steve tries to butt in.

“—that Steve thought the three of us were dating and he nearly died of jealousy?”

“Maybe next week,” Tony says, attempting to scooch around Bucky to avoid retaliation. Steve’s onto him though.

“Tell them that and I’ll tell them how you thought you were just our sugar daddy for _two years_.”

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHH  
> If you're still with me _high five!_
> 
> Many MANY thanks to eachepeachpearplum from the Tony Stark Bingo Discord who is both amazing and wonderful.  
> Thank youuuu for your incredible beta help <3  
> Any remaining mistakes are my own.


End file.
